Grey Sands
by ylvglo
Summary: He really wishes it was easier to distinguish Dream sand from Nightmare sand.


I want to thank Gespenst for betaing for me again. You helped me make it lots better than it originally was. Thank you.

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**_Grey Sand_**

He opens his eyes at the quiet noise echoing in the caverns of the lair and lets out a groan at the sight that meets him. Damn Nightmares, trying to scare him again. He huffs in irritation as his eyes follow the streams of Nightmare sand. Why couldn't they ever leave him alone?

One of the streams separate from the rest and floats towards him. He holds out his staff in warning.

'I'm not in the mood so just leave me alone.' The stream pause and he gets the impression that had it a head it would be tilting it in curiosity. He blinks, that's not a reaction he'd have thought Nightmare sand capable of, it seemed almost benevolent…

_Shit!_

He's on his feet, eying his surroundings suspiciously before the thought chain even finishes. The Nightmare sand isn't acting odd, it is_ Dream_ sand. He should have seen it; the sand is far too light to be anything else. Now that he's looking it's so obvious. The shade is completely off – far too light – there is no way that is Nightmare sand. His mind had just assumed that since it was in the lair…

He should have learned not to assume anything by now.

He can reprimand himself later though, because where there is Dream sand, usually the Sandman is near (not really, but it's unlikely the sandy Guardian would just send his Dream sand down into Pitch's lair unless he's here too). He's hoping he's wrong. Let him be wrong! Let him be wrong!

But there is the Sandman just by the entrance, staring at him as if he's grown a second head. He blinks at the little man, trying to decipher the look. What would harbor such an expression?

His eyes go wide, pupils shrinking to pinpricks and he slaps a hand over his mouth. The Sandman heard him. What will Pitch do to him when he finds out? And he will find out, he always does. How he does it is a mystery, but without fail he _always_ knows if something is being kept hidden from him.

He almost jumps out of his skin when an exclamation mark appears right before his eyes. When did the Sandman get so close? He looks down into warm eyes (he thinks they're warm, it's always so hard to tell) and an expectant expression. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath behind his hand before lowering it. It's easy to understand what the other want, but he's afraid. He's already damned himself, but it could get so much worse. Pitch so loves to punish him.

But maybe, just maybe, it could get better. The Guardians aren't his enemies by choice, in fact from their limited interactions he actually thinks he could come to like them if he gets a chance (with the exception of the kangaroo of course). He looks at the Sandman; the man who gives good dreams to all the children he can reach. And he thinks, this might be his one and only chance.

'Yeah, I… I can talk.' It almost hurts to say it and he can't help but looking around for any signs of Pitch or Nightmare sand. He'll have doomed himself if anyone but the tiny Guardian heard him, perhaps not irrefutably, not yet. But it's obvious what's coming next.

And there it is; the question mark. It's incredible how much meaning there can be behind a single symbol. _Why has he never spoken before the Guardians before? Why does he work for Pitch? __**Who**__ is he?_ He bites his lips, wants to explain, wants to tell the Sandman everything, but there isn't time.

'Look, I can't tell you, not yet. Pitch could be returning any moment now. But if you help me get away from him, I _promise_ you that you'll get all the answers you want,' he says quickly, eyes once more flitting around the room, looking for signs of movement. From the corner of his eyes he can see the sandy Guardian nodding.

He takes a deep breath before he continues, it's imperative that the other understand the significance of his next request. 'Two things. First, you need to take my staff,' – the little man has a puzzled look on his face as he accept the staff, but he refrains from signing – 'and _don't_ give it back.'

The Sandman wrinkles his brows and is about to make a protest, but he won't let him. 'Secondly,' he says and gives the other a pointed look. 'You have to put me to sleep. But know that as soon as you do, Pitch will know something is up, so you'll have to act quickly.'

The Guardian looks at him with eyebrows drawn together, but the little man takes a deep breath, face seeming to sag for a moment before he sets his jaw again and gives a curt nod. Raising an arm he conjures a ball of sand and holds it out.

His breath hitches and with a quick look at the Sandman he reaches out and takes the ball with shaking hands He can't help the awed little smile that stretches over his face as he touches the sand. Dream sand is everything its opposite isn't; it is soft and fine while the Nightmare sand is gritty and rough; it gives of a peaceful and comforting aura when the other holds an air of fear and terror.

He can feel tears welling in his eyes but he bites his lips and holds them. He can't break down now.

'One more thing,' he says hoarsely without taking his eyes of the sand in his hands. 'The answers are behind me.' He throws the Dream sand in his face.

Finally Jack Frost knows restful sleep.

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As you might have guessed, there is more to this story. Lot's more. But I do not dare promise that I'll write and post it. Though Zin said something about peer pressure. :D

Crossposted on AO3


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